


For Whatever You Lose

by scoradh



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-17
Updated: 2014-03-17
Packaged: 2018-01-16 02:56:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1329241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scoradh/pseuds/scoradh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You can't always get what you want - unless you fish it out of the ocean. (Mermaid!fic)</p><p>Written in July 2008.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Whatever You Lose

**Author's Note:**

> Beta: murklins (livejournal)  
> Title from an e.e. cummings poem

Ryan had gone on vacation with Spencer's family every year that Ryan could remember, including some where plastic spades and water-wings were a big feature. Spencer's dad was originally from Oregon, and the beach house there had been in his family for generations. It looked it, too: all faded clapboard, weathered shingles and a crooked chimney stack.   
  
Ryan didn't see it that way, though. Instead, he saw the endless hours of fun he and Spencer had there, fighting super villians or being world-famous rockstars. He saw the open fireplace that was the most perfect spot in the world to toast marshmallows. He saw the wonky shingle from when he'd dared Spencer to climb the roof - which he'd done, predictably, and fallen, also predictably. Fortunately he'd fallen into a bush, spraining his wrist instead of breaking his neck. Spencer's mom had been equally furious at both of them: there'd been a ban on hot chocolate for a week. Ironically, it was the first time Ryan felt truly accepted into the Smith family.  
  
The seaside town was called Seaside, which, when Ryan thought about it, was astronomically lame. On the other hand, he could have navigated his way to the dinky arcades and the beat-up funfair with his eyes closed. His affection for the place ran deep. Still, as entertainment for teenage boys, it was wearing thin. That was the main reason Spencer's dad had taken it upon himself to teach Ryan and Spencer how to fish.   
  
Ryan pretty much failed outright at fishing, while Spencer was all flailing arms and utter shock when his hook made contact - usually with fronds of seaweed in disguise. All the same, their primary destination each day was a sheltered cove discovered by Spencer's father in the summers of his own youth. One of the best spots, a smooth flat stone, boasted his initials - inside a heart with another set that did _not_ belong to Spencer's mom.   
  
After a few days, Jim claimed they'd 'got the hang of it', which was an outright lie. But Ryan knew Jim didn't like to intrude: he was very definitely a hands-off dad, and he believed kids should be left alone to do their own thing. He even got his wife to agree with him - most of the time.   
  
The cove was cupped on either side by a harsh fall of rocks. They were the main reason it deterred more casual or less curious holidaymakers. Ryan preferred it that way, although he still followed in Spencer's wake in the evenings, when the lure of the arcades drew him away from the itchy solitude of the beach. They were a bit old for rides, and Ryan didn't approve of the brassy-eyed girls who made eyes at Spencer. Surprisingly, Spencer did not agree.   
  
A week into the vacation: Spencer's freckles came out in full force and Ryan slowly ripened from a dusty pink to a dull brown. One afternoon they weren't doing much more than lazing on the beach. A late-night horror movie session with Spencer's littlest sister weighed down their eyelids.  
  
Spencer soon gave up the pretence of fishing in favour of a nap. Ryan occasionally flicked his line into the water. He half-thought they'd die of shock if he caught anything. Ryan knew he could never kill a fish. Jim had taught Spencer how, but Spencer took spiders out of bathtubs in cups.   
  
The thrill on the line jolted Ryan out of a doze. Spencer made a spluttering sleep noise. Ryan had time to notice that Spencer's nose was burned bright red before the line hummed again, and Ryan's instinct grabbed the tiller and reeled it in.  
  
"Heavy," grunted Ryan. "Spencer, wake up. Help."  
  
"What?" mumbled Spencer. "'s seaweed. Leave it alone."  
  
"It's bigger than seaweed."  
  
"So it's seaweed and _other_ seaweed," insisted Spencer, eyes still closed.  
  
Ryan slid off the rock and into ankle-deep water. He tugged the tiller until his arms tingled with strain. _God_ , he thought wildly, _I've accidentally caught a whale -_  
  
An immense splashing momentarily blinded him. He dropped the rod to wipe the salt from his eyes and when his vision was clear again, the first thing it showed was a half-naked guy coughing on to the sand.   
  
At first Ryan didn't link the two events correctly. "Where did you - what -"  
  
"Don't tell me, it's a dead body," said Spencer. He sat up and yelped. "It _is_ a dead body! Jesus Christ, Ryan."  
  
"I didn't do it," Ryan defended himself. He looked back at the guy - wow, _completely naked_ , actually - and noticed he was bleeding. "Or, well ... you can't kill someone with a fish hook, right?"  
  
"Not unless you're in the Mafia." Spencer plished through the water to Ryan, and they both stared down. The boy was rubbing his face frantically. Aside from the _wow naked_ part, which was kind of distracting Ryan a lot, he had masses of dark brown hair slithering around his ears and pale, almost greenish skin. The blood oozing from his shoulder was more blue than red (deoxygenated, whispered a part of Ryan's brain held captive to biology class). And he stunk of fish.  
  
"Maybe he was drowning," said Spencer. "You did that, though. Look." He pointed and, sure enough, Ryan's fish-hook was embedded in the boy's bicep. Ryan felt a sickly twist of guilt.   
  
"I'll get the first-aid kit," said Spencer. "Thank God for Mom's overprotective tendencies. You go see if he's okay."  
  
"Me?" Ryan hunched his shoulders. "Remember Tracey McGill? You made me ask if she was okay and she punched me in the _nose_."  
  
"You had just dumped her," Spencer pointed out, with implacable logic. "And you maimed this kid, so yes. You."  
  
Spencer gave him a little push. Ryan stumbled and tried to make it seem on purpose as he crouched down. The boy had been following their exchange with interest and he smiled up at Ryan as Ryan edged nearer. Ryan smiled back, a little overwhelmed by the warmth of his expression.   
  
"I'm sorry," said Ryan. "It was - I didn't mean - you're not a fish." It came out slightly more accusing than Ryan intended. "Um. Does it hurt?"  
  
The boy put his head on one side with an inquiring expression. He opened his mouth, but all that came out were gargling noises. Ryan startled backwards and sat flat on his ass in the water. The gargling was higher pitched this time, accompanied by another heart-blasting smile - oh. Ryan flushed. The boy was laughing at him.  
  
"Here." Spencer waded back in with an armful of bandaids, antiseptic lotion and for, some reason, bugspray. "What's his name?"  
  
"I don't know," said Ryan. Spencer huffed.  
  
"Typical." He squatted beside the boy, who obligingly turned another smile on him. Ryan felt a dart of annoyance at the boy's free and easy ways. "My name's Spencer, what's yours?"  
  
"Arkblug," said the boy.  
  
"Okay, Arkblug, I'm Spencer, and that's Ryan. Ryan's going to patch you up, since it was his fault in the first place."  
  
The boy nodded. Ryan was torn between amusement and despair, but at least the kid understood them.   
  
He took an alcohol swab from Spencer and wiped it gingerly across the wound. The boy hissed. Spencer patted his shoulder, earning himself another smile. Ryan eased the hook out, glad to see that no gush of blood followed. He cleaned it up as best he could with the antiseptic lotion, and then painstakingly placed a bandaid over the cut. It was a Superman one.  
  
"That's good," said Spencer. "You should probably go to the doctor, though, and get a tetanus shot. Those hooks are as rusty as anything."  
  
"Tokkmah scraple," said the boy.  
  
"Oh - he's foreign. Oops." Spencer crinkled his forehead. " _Tu avez infirmaire_?"  
  
"I don't think he's French," said Ryan, as the boy's face screwed up with unmistakable glee.   
  
"You took Spanish, didn't you? Try Spanish."  
  
The boy shook his head with another bubble of laughter. He waved his hand at Ryan, who came closer. The boy nodded encouragingly until Ryan was in the water beside him. He placed a cold hand on Ryan's cheek, leaned in, and _kissed_ him. On the mouth, a cool-warm pinch.  
  
"That's _very_ friendly," said Spencer in the background. "Maybe he's Norwegian?"  
  
Icy lips sent a shiver through Ryan, skittering down his spine and curling his toes. The boy's tongue was a gentle weight in Ryan's mouth for an instant before he pulled away - grinning, now. Then he waved and dove back into the ocean. His arms cleaved the waves as they watched: Ryan with stunned longing, Spencer with professional appreciation.  
  
"He sure can hold his breath," said Spencer, as the boy dived. Ryan's mouth still felt numb. When he moved his tongue to speak, he realised why. There was something _in_ there.  
  
"Yerk!" spluttered Ryan. He retched into his hands. A perfect, round pearl stared back at him, like a great milky eye.  
  
"Hey, that's weird," said Spencer. "He didn't come up again."  
  
+++  
  
By unspoken consent, they left their fishing rods behind when they went to the cove the next morning.  
  
"A smuggler," suggested Ryan, as they scrambled over the rocks. He hardly noticed the barnacle grazes for once.  
  
"A naked smuggler who can't speak English?" Spencer sounded unduly sceptical, Ryan thought.  
  
"Well, yeah. It's a disguise, don't you get it? He swims back to his, his boat -"  
  
"His hidden submarine," said Spencer.  
  
"Look, he _could be_. That's all I'm saying."  
  
"He could also be a pirate, but I don't think it's true," said Spencer. "Maybe he's training for the Olympics."  
  
"Last I checked athletes didn't compete in their birthday suits."  
  
Spencer choked. "Did you seriously just say birthday suits?"  
  
"What?" Ryan blushed. It wasn't a phrase he'd normally use - or ever had before, actually - but that didn't make it less valid. "What did you want me to say? Bare-assed naked?"  
  
"It would have been slightly cooler." Spencer slid down the last few feet of sea grass, still snickering.  
  
Ryan frowned as he followed, pretending it was over Spencer's remark. It was actually more like a swirl of anticipation. What if the boy was there? What if he wasn't? Was there a good reason for him to come back, aside from a potential enjoyment in getting mauled by strangers?  
  
"Huh. No one around," said Spencer. He shaded his eyes as he stared out over the blinding glitter. Ryan planted his sunglasses firmly behind his ears before he did the same. In his pocket, he rolled the pearl between his fingers, trying to ignore the sudden rush of disappointment.  
  
"Swam off to break the world record, apparently," said Ryan.  
  
"Shut up, you just wanted him to kiss you again."  
  
Ryan's cheeks heated. "I do not."  
  
"Yeah, you do. You liked it, your eyes were all crazy after."  
  
"They - _you_ shut up." Spencer laughed. Ryan pushed him into a dune. That was fine until Spencer pursed his lips.  
  
"Shut _up_!"  
  
"I didn't _say_ anything," protested Spencer.  
  
"Yeah, well." Ryan gave Spencer a half-hearted shove before rolling on to his back in the sand. The truth was, he didn't want Spencer to realise how much he liked boy-kissing in general - preferred it to girl-kissing, even. Spencer had once refused to debate the con side of legalising gay marriage in class, but that was because Spencer was awesome in general. Ryan didn't want to cross the final frontier of his awesomeness.  
  
"It's not every day a boy gives you a big ol' pearl, though," said Spencer. "It's like a fairytale. You're probably married now."  
  
"That happens in science-fiction, not fairytales," said Ryan.   
  
"Hmm." Spencer buried his toes in sand. "What do you think of Mandy?"  
  
"Who's - oh, the blonde one." Ryan wrinkled his nose, then remembered to check Spencer's face. Spencer was staring out to sea again. "Well, she's kind of - I mean. Do you like h -"  
  
"Look!" Spencer jumped up. Two white shapes cut through the waves, smoothly splitting the foam. Spencer rolled up his baggy shorts and waded into the water, waving. Ryan followed more sedately. Honestly, anyone would think _Spencer_ was the one who'd got kissed.  
  
It _was_ the boy, flashing through the waves. Ryan wasn't sure what he'd thought - albino dolphins? - but the relief was still overpowering. There was another boy with him, lagging behind a little. He rolled on his back a lot and let the waves carry him onwards.  
  
"Must be his Olympic swimming coach," said Ryan.  
  
"Let it drop, will you?" said Spencer. "Maybe we can figure out a way to ask them. Babelfish or something."  
  
Ryan felt a little shy by the time he could make out the boy's face, grinning widely. He edged behind Spencer, who was throwing his arms around like he was guiding in an airplane.   
  
"Hi," said Spencer. The boy burbled back. "So you're okay now?" The boy showed his arm. Ryan gaped: the skin was smooth and whole. Not a mark remained to show where the hook had torn the skin.  
  
Spencer continued talking, carrying on an entirely one-sided conversation with the earnest-looking boy and his friend, who occasionally interjected a hand gesture from his practically horizontal position. They were dressed alike - in other words, in nothing at all.   
  
"Can you speak English?" snapped Ryan at length. "I know you can understand me. Us."  
  
"Sorry," said Spencer. "Ryan gets crabby when he's ignored."  
  
"Oh, is that what you were doing?"  
  
" _Really_ crabby," said Spencer, nodding solemnly.   
  
The boy looked thoughtful. He bobbed around beside Ryan and stood up, water pouring from his skin. Ryan feigned a deep interest in the sky, but Spencer's snort said he wasn't fooled. Fortunately, Ryan was the only person in the world who spoke fluent Spencer.  
  
The boy patted Ryan on the shoulder. Ryan wanted to cuttingly point out that his shirt was now all wet, but the boy's eyes stopped him. They were a rich, deep brown - for some reason, Ryan had expected a sea colour: blue or green or grey.   
  
Keeping his hand where it was, the boy mimed putting something in his mouth. Ryan shrugged his confusion. The boy's brows wrinkled. He leaned in, salt-breath gusting against Ryan's skin. He pecked him on the lips, then spat into the water. The other boy stopped lolling about and stood up too, looking worried.  
  
"Oh - the pearl." Ryan fished hurriedly in his pocket, not-accidentally jolting the boy's hand off his arm. "Here. It's fine, I didn't do anything to it."  
  
The boy shook his head. He took the pearl, put it to his lips, and handed it back to Ryan. Ryan copied the movement uncertainly. The boy's fingers wrapped around his wrist and pushed gently. Ryan opened his mouth and the pearl slid inside, settling softly against his cheek. It didn't feel as unpleasant as it should have. Ryan ran his tongue over it: it tasted of brine.  
  
"That's better," said a voice that definitely wasn't Spencer's. " _Seriously_ , dude. I thought I'd have to do an interpretive dance next."  
  
"What - what _is_ that thing?" Ryan touched the slight bulge in his cheek. The boy's eyes tracked the movement and he smiled.   
  
"It's my pearl," he said, which was one of the most singularly unenlightening explanations Ryan had ever heard.  
  
"Hey, you can understand him now?" complained Spencer. "No fair."  
  
"I can translate, jackass," said Ryan.   
  
Spencer made a face. "You sound like him. Gooble gooble gark. Dammit, _Ry_ an."   
  
"So that would be the _bad_ side-effect," said the boy. "But - Jon?"  
  
The other boy ambled through the choppy waves. Ryan had time to appreciate how unbothered the boy and this Jon guy were with their own nakedness as they held a whispered conclave. Spencer, looking sulky, plucked at Ryan's sleeve. Ryan put his arm around Spencer's shoulders and Spencer tucked his face into Ryan's neck. Ryan absent-mindedly smoothed Spencer's flyaway fringe as he watched Jon and the boy argue.  
  
Spencer poked Ryan in the side, making him yelp. Spencer grinned and Jon looked over. With a great sigh, he shrugged at the boy. Jon could shrug with _intent_.  
  
Glee all over his face, the boy waded back through the water. "Jon says he'll give Spencer his pearl. But only on condition that Spencer is okay with the ritual. I told him _of course_ , we've been watching you for ages now so we _know_ , but I guess humans can be weird -"  
  
"What's he saying?" complained Spencer.   
  
"Wait," said Ryan, " _humans_?"  
  
"Oh, um." The boy looked sheepish. "I can explain later."  
  
"Going at things tail before fin, as usual," said Jon. "You should have explained _first_."  
  
"It's a little hard to translate into _sign-language_ ," said the boy.   
  
"Ryan?" said Jon. "You are Ryan, and that's -" his eyes slid across to Spencer's cross pink face "- uh, that's."  
  
"Spencer," supplied the boy. "Remember, the one you -"  
  
"Yes, yes," said Jon hurriedly. "Do you think he'd be okay with me kissing him? To give him my pearl?"  
  
"If that's what you have to do," said Ryan, "and hurry up, or he'll sulk even longer."  
  
"Are you _sure_?" stressed Jon.  
  
"You heard the man," said the boy.   
  
Jon squared his shoulders and put a hand on either side of Spencer's face. Spencer's startled gaze flicked to Ryan, who nodded. To Ryan's surprise, Spencer smiled and closed his eyes.  
  
The kiss lasted the merest second. When Spencer started coughing, Jon shook his head and put his fingers over Spencer's lips. Spencer obediently stilled. Ryan could see his tongue moving, tucking the pearl away safely.   
  
"Are you okay? Sorry about the - the kiss, it was the only way," said Jon.   
  
"Don't worry about it." Spencer stuck out his hand. Jon eyed it oddly. "I'm Spencer."  
  
"I know. I mean - I'm Jon. What are you doing?"  
  
"Trying to shake your hand," said Spencer. He grabbed Jon's hand and pumped it before going to the boy. "Are you going to introduce us, Ryan?"  
  
"I don't know his name," said Ryan. Spencer sent him a very long-suffering look.   
  
"I'm Brendon," said the boy, "and I should probably tell you who we are. We're not -"  
  
"Olympic swimmers?" said Ryan snidely.  
  
"Or smugglers?" flashed Spencer.  
  
"- human," finished Brendon. He and Jon exchanged glances. "We're seafolk. Oceanwalkers."  
  
"I've never heard of them," said Ryan. "Is that another word for deep-sea divers?"  
  
"No," said Brendon, "it's another word for mermaid."  
  
+++  
  
"I'll drown," said Ryan.  
  
"Not when I'm with you," said Brendon - with very little impatience, given that it was the fourth time. "You'll be totally safe. I promise. Cross my heart and hope to die. Why would I let you drown?"  
  
"Oh, I don't know." Ryan eyed the vast expanse of _really deep_ ocean with giddy terror. "Maybe because I stuck a hook in you?"  
  
"Humans do strange things, but I'm pretty sure you're not all barbarians. Statistically speaking," said Brendon. "I mean, I _get_ it. It was an accident. I don't blame you for it."  
  
"C'mon," said Spencer. "We'll never get another opportunity like this."  
  
"You could say the same thing about dying in a fire," muttered Ryan, but he sighed and said to Brendon, "Fine. Fine. But if I drown, I'll never forgive you."  
  
"Good thing it's not a possibility, then," said Brendon cheerfully, not sounding remotely fazed. "Okay, first you have to take off your fins."  
  
"Our what?" said Spencer. Ryan, slightly quicker off the mark, shuttered his eyes and said, "Oh no."  
  
"You can't go deep with those things weighing you down," said Jon. " _You're_ the one who's so worried about drowning."  
  
"Oh, you mean our _clothes_ ," said Spencer.   
  
"Humans don't swim naked," said Ryan stiffly.  
  
"Yes they do - we've seen them. Further down the beach," said Brendon. Spencer choked. "I get it now why some folk say humans are descended from walruses. Pregnant ones."  
  
"Nudists - don't count," said Ryan, even more stiffly.   
  
"What about that time you went skinny-dipping with Morgan Chen?" said Spencer, batting his eyes innocently. "Does that count?"  
  
Ryan glared at him, the effect of which was somewhat dimmed by his wraparound shades. It didn't matter, though; he'd already lost. "Face that way," he told Brendon, who, looking bewildered, obeyed.  
  
Ryan had seen Spencer naked before. He hadn't made a study of it - that way lay madness - but there were no surprises. He knew Spencer was as embarrassed by his slight pudginess as Ryan was about his stick-thin frame - and both were completely at odds with the lithe bodies of the mermaids. To distract himself, Ryan neatly folded up his clothes and hid them behind a dune. Spencer bundled his into the same place and stood with his hands wrapped around his middle, staring at the ground.  
  
"Can we look yet?" asked Brendon, peeking anyway. He took his laced fingers away from his eyes and smirked. "I don't know what you were so worried about. It looks perfectly _adequate_ to me."  
  
"Huh," muttered Ryan. Prickly heat stormed his face.  
  
Jon sighed. "Tell the human what you're talking about."  
  
Brendon's face went _wide_. It was the ultimate 'who me?' expression. "Of _course_ they know I'm only talking about their gills."  
  
Spencer made a wet gurgling noise. Ryan looked down at his stomach and gasped. "I have a hole in me. I have a hole in me!" He turned an accusing glare on Brendon. "How is this 'totally safe'?"  
  
"Uh, if you take 'totally safe' to mean 'my head will not explode underwater'," said Brendon, in a 'duh' voice.  
  
"Oh." Ryan poked his gill. It ran just beside his bellybutton, a gaping red wound-like feature that, Ryan was relieved to discover, didn't hurt at all. "I guess you guys have them too, right?"  
  
"Why, Ryan." Brendon blew him a coquettish kiss. "Are you asking to see my _gills_?"  
  
"I can see enough already," said Ryan. His eyes inadvertently slid southwards. A slapping noise alerted him to his slip: Jon had clamped a hand over Brendon's mouth. Brendon sent Jon a deeply injured look before turning back to Ryan.  
  
"We'll be your guides," he said. He held out his hand as Ryan waded into the water, clenching his teeth against the cold shock. "As long as you're with us, you won't be in any danger." Jon snorted. "Well, not much," Brendon amended.  
  
"That fills me with confidence," said Ryan, but he let Brendon tangle their fingers together. Jon did the same with Spencer.   
  
"Are you ready?" whispered Brendon.  
  
"No," said Ryan. "Yes. Wait - you remember about the no-drowning part, right?"  
  
"I remember everything about you, Ryan," said Brendon, which struck Ryan as an odd thing to say. He didn't have time to question it, however, because Brendon dove and Ryan followed, pulled under into the impossible blue.  
  
+++  
  
"I like this cave," said Ryan. "It's a good cave. There are no sharks in this cave."  
  
When Brendon sighed, it came out as a stream of bubbles. It was basically hilarious and a good enough reason to make Brendon sigh, quite apart from the grinning man-eating shark issue.  
  
"It wasn't going to touch you," he said. "Anyway, sharks are carnivores. All they'd get from you is bones."  
  
"Do you have a signed treaty to that effect?"  
  
"What's a treaty?"  
  
"It's a thing that makes sharks promise to go far far away, like say Antarctica, and never bother potential prey again," said Ryan. "Maybe with some compulsory dental work thrown in."  
  
Brendon just rolled his eyes and ran his toes along the coral. Little fronds opened up in his wake.   
  
"I didn't know it could do that," said Ryan. He copied Brendon, but the coral remained resolutely motionless. "Oh, because it can't."  
  
"Probably not for humans," said Brendon. "But then again, you have a habit of ripping it up and killing it and stuff. Better safe than sorry, I guess."  
  
Ryan thought of the pink and white coral that decorated his father's kitchen windowsill, and winced.   
  
"So what do you think?" Brendon playfully flipped around in the water. There was no such thing as 'sitting' down here, Ryan discovered, although he was doing his best to try. "Worth the risk of drowning?"  
  
"And the brush with shiny-toothed death?" Ryan sucked in a breath - thanks to Brendon and his pearl, the water just felt like fog - and blew it out again. A cloud of phosphorescent bubbles swarmed his face. "Yes," he said quietly.   
  
Brendon seemed to hear all he didn't say, for he squeezed Ryan's fingers and smiled. Ryan was growing perilously attached to that smile. He barely registered Brendon's nakedness any longer, despite the fact that it was literally in his face, but each new smile stopped his heart. Ryan was irritated at himself. Star-crossed lovers were one thing, but at least they were the same species. Ryan wasn't sure _what_ Brendon was - aside from very good at hiding his existence from National Geographic.  
  
"So explain to me why you don't have a fishtail," said Ryan.  
  
"I don't know," said Brendon, "maybe because I'm not a _fish_?"  
  
"Yes, but you are a mermaid."  
  
Brendon did a complicated twist with his feet and zipped round behind Ryan. He lifted a lock of Ryan's floating hair and blew bubbles in his ear as he said, "I don't see why that means I should have a tail. You better not be accusing my mom of sleeping with a manatee."  
  
"But all the stories," protested Ryan. He felt a little squirmy at Brendon's proximity. Unfortunately, Ryan was nothing like a proficient swimmer at the best of times. Even when he wriggled away from Brendon, Brendon was quicker, and stuck his head under Ryan's arm to look up his nose.   
  
"What stories? Stories about _mermaids_?" Brendon's eyes glimmered with excitement. "Do humans tell stories about us?"  
  
"One human in particular," said Ryan, "Hans Christian Anderson. Then Disney riffed off him so they could butcher the story and make millions of dollars. Don't mermaids tell stories about humans, too?"  
  
Brendon's bright, open expression snapped shut for a second. "Yes," he said shortly. "They're not exactly what you'd call nice, though." Ryan made another futile attempt to put some distance between them. The rapid brushes of skin-on-skin were making his breath catch, and that kind of thing was very obvious underwater. "Tell me a mermaid story, Ryan. Pretty please with an eel on top?"  
  
"Okay, if you're _that_ keen," said Ryan. "Although, eels, way to be disgusting."  
  
"Eels are delicious!" protested Brendon. "I'll hunt you one later. Jon has the best trick for eating them: you slice off their heads and suck out the insides - hey, are you okay?"  
  
"Gross," Ryan managed. He wondered if it were possible to get sick here: would it all just float upwards? They could play the 'guess what Ryan ate for lunch' game. Interestingly, that thought only made him feel worse. "Okay, um. The Little Mermaid. Once upon a time..."  
  
"Little Mermaid?" interrupted Brendon. "Why little?"  
  
"Because she was," said Ryan. "That was her name."  
  
"Huh," said Brendon. "Even for a human, that's pretty crap. I figured out humans don't just call each other 'the fat human' and 'the human with the crazy hair' by the time I was _five_."  
  
"Fine, you give her a name."  
  
Brendon sucked in his lower lip. Ryan tried not to watch. Brendon had a very pretty mouth. Ryan knew that was the wrong word to use for a guy, but it was also true. At least in Brendon's case. He could also pull it into all sorts of shapes and that only made Ryan think Very Wrong Things.   
  
"Angelica. And don't make her little. She's probably like me, you know, totally strong." Brendon flexed his bicep. His muscles were on the weedy side of weightlifting. Ryan couldn't contain his smirk, which brought out an answering frown on Brendon's face.   
  
Hurriedly, Ryan said, "Hey, are those _scales_?" He poked Brendon's arm. There was a slight sheen there, a colour between silver and green, which hadn't been obvious topside.  
  
For once, Brendon was the one who moved back. "That's my skin," he said, sounding defensive.  
  
"Right," said Ryan. He looked down at his fingertips: they were lightly dusted with a silver shimmer. Brendon was staring off into the distance, seeming genuinely annoyed for the first time, so Ryan didn't push it. "So anyway, Angelica the big strong mermaid fell in love with a human prince." Brendon's back stiffened. "She saw him on the deck of a ship one night and that was a good enough reason, apparently. Because she was shallow. Or maybe kind of dumb." Belatedly, Ryan realised Brendon had probably never heard a fairytale before, and so wasn't familiar with the idiocy they enshrined. "Pretty much right away there was a storm and she saved his life - by dragging him up on to the nearest beach and giving him mouth-to-mouth."  
  
"Mouth-to-mouth?" Brendon relaxed a little and cartwheeled in the water, watching Ryan.  
  
"It's CPR," explained Ryan, "what you do when someone drowns ... oh."  
  
"I know what drowning is." Brendon rolled his eyes. "So she put her mouth on his and, what? Gave him her pearl?"  
  
"Not exactly," said Ryan. "In the version I know, he didn't spontaneously grow gills and hop into the ocean with her."  
  
"Well, _what_ then?" demanded Brendon. Ryan was glad he'd gone for the cliff notes version. Brendon clearly had the attention span of a demented seagull. It was a little bit cute, because for all his impatience, Brendon was still listening intently.  
  
"She swam away," said Ryan, "and he fell in love with her as well in the whole two seconds he saw her. Only, he met a princess from the next kingdom and thought she was Angelica. They were both pretty stupid, actually, they would have been perfect for each other. Angelica wanted to become human so she could get the prince back, so she went to a seawitch who gave her legs in exchange for her voice. Which is where the whole 'fishtail' bit comes in. The story pretty much falls down if she had legs anyway."  
  
"And in the end? What happens in the end?"  
  
Ryan felt a little uncomfortable. Telling Brendon what really happened - even to a completely fictional character who'd never actually existed - would be like pulling a kitten's tail. "The prince marries the princess, and Angelica throws herself on the ocean and becomes foam. Only, in the Disney version, _Angelica_ marries the prince. Because, I don' t know, it's unethical to make little kids cry."  
  
Brendon pondered this for a whole five seconds. "I like the Disney version better," he declared.  
  
"Yeah," said Ryan, "you _would_."  
  
"Ryan!" Spencer's holler preceded him into the cave. He dragged Jon behind him, holding on by the fingertips. Jon looked a bit frazzled. Ryan had left them playing hide and seek with a manta ray - a _manta ray_. Even given Jon's blasé attitude to deadly sea creatures, that had to be exhausting.  
  
"What's wrong? Did you tag a kraken?" said Ryan.  
  
"Wow, no, but Jon said we can visit one tomorrow," said Spencer. "His friend Tom knows where they breed, isn't that cool?"  
  
"Cool," said Ryan, "or, you know, insane and dangerous and also, insane."  
  
"Anyway," continued Spencer, "it's nearly eight pm. I'm not sure, Jon tells time by the light filtration or something and they have twenty-six hour days, but I'm pretty sure we're late for dinner."  
  
"Oh shit," said Ryan. Olivia was pretty easy-going as a rule, but she insisted that everyone be present at dinner and report to her if they were going out afterwards.   
  
"How long will it take us to get back?" asked Spencer.  
  
Ryan bit his lip, calculating. He couldn't be sure, but it had been at least an hour on the way down. Spencer kept stopping to marvel at schools of fish and old boots, though, so maybe -  
  
"Don't worry," said Brendon. He grinned. "I know a shortcut."  
  
+++  
  
Apparently, orca whales were the Formula One of the ocean. Ryan felt this was something _Free Willy_ had never adequately conveyed.  
  
+++  
  
Ryan broke the water with a pop and shook water out of his ears. A faint ringing persisted. It took him a minute to realise it was his cell.   
  
He tried to run out of the water and across the sand, only to find his legs had turned into soggy twigs. He stumbled over to the dune and landed face-down, scrabbling for the phone. He gasped, "Hello?"  
  
"Ryan! I was just about to give up on you," said Olivia. "Where are you two? You must be starving."  
  
"Oh, er, we brought sandwiches," lied Ryan. They'd actually dined on seaweed and soft red flowers that grew on the ocean floor, none of which tasted as disgusting as Ryan suspected they did on land. "Sorry - we fell asleep."  
  
"I hope you put sunscreen on," said Olivia. "And I expect to see you back here inside of ten minutes, understand?"  
  
"Yes, Mo - Olivia," said Ryan. It wasn't the first time he'd slipped, but he still winced.  
  
"Jim made your favourite," said Olivia, more gently. "Lamb stew."  
  
"Great," said Ryan. "But, um, that's Spencer's favourite."  
  
Olivia laughed. "We can't tell the two of you apart sometimes. In ten, Ryan." She hung up.  
  
"Was that Mom?" said Spencer.   
  
"No, Queen Elizabeth. But she sends her regards."  
  
"She calls you more than me these days," complained Spencer.   
  
"That is because you are her ungrateful child," said Ryan. "I'm just a visitor."  
  
Spencer's glare was narrow and cool. "Don't be stupid. You're not 'just' a visitor, you know that."  
  
Ryan actually did know that, but it didn't do to tempt fate. "Put your clothes on," he said. He threw a t-shirt at Spencer. Spencer had it over his head before Ryan realised it was his own. He didn't say anything, just pulled on Spencer's in its place.  
  
Brendon and Jon were stretched out in the shallows when Spencer and Ryan came to say goodbye.   
  
"That was amazing," Spencer said. "I've never been that close to a whale in my life."  
  
"What a big eyes you have, Grandmama," muttered Ryan. He didn't care what Brendon said (laughing): the thing kept _staring_ at him.  
  
"The dolphins certainly liked Ryan," said Brendon. He had his hands propped on his chin, wet hair in his eyes. Under the sea, it billowed away from his face. He looked different, up here in the air. More - other.  
  
"Yeah, they were - what's the word?" Spencer snickered. "Frolicking?"  
  
"Is that what the kids are calling it nowadays?" Ryan scowled. "You don't want to know where one of them put its nose."  
  
"I might be interested," Brendon volunteered. Ryan kicked water in his face, but he just laughed. "Hello? Mermaid?"  
  
"We'll have to repay the favour," said Spencer. "We don't exactly have the most exciting beach house in the world, but there's TV and board games -"  
  
"Board games, Spence?"  
  
"You were pretty into Monopoly last night," countered Spencer. "I seem to remember accusations of embezzlement against the banker."  
  
"But you always cheat!"  
  
"Duh," said Spencer. "That's the point of being the banker."  
  
Brendon's face closed down in on itself. "Thanks for the offer, but it's kind of - not possible."  
  
"Is it because of the Monopoly? You don't have to play," said Spencer. "And I'll stop Ryan from making you. He just has a thing for hotels, it's a sickness."  
  
"No, we -" Brendon coughed. "That is -"  
  
"We can't leave the sea," said Jon matter-of-factly.   
  
"But if you want to visit us again, you totally can," said Brendon. Jon opened his mouth, but Brendon continued in a rush, "There's no problem. Will you come tomorrow? Please?" He seemed to be speaking directly to Ryan.  
  
"Sure, why not," said Ryan. Spencer gave Jon his ice-cream-and-Playstation grin.  
  
Ryan shook his head. Still, he paused at the top of the rockfall while Spencer slip-slid ahead and looked back. He thought he could see a tiny white shape in the midst of the vast water. But it might just have been the moonlight.  
  
+++  
  
For a while Spencer liked the sea more than Ryan did, but that was okay, because Ryan liked Brendon more than the sea. While Spencer and Jon travelled farther and farther afield in search of new wonders (Ryan called them 'perils') to delight Spencer's eyes, Brendon and Ryan spent most of their time in one of the night-speckled caves, talking. Their skin turned again, from sunblushed back to white. Olivia was pleased that they were using sunscreen so assiduously. Ryan asked Spencer about Mandy, once, and Spencer said, "Who's Mandy?"  
  
Then, one day, something happened. Ryan came out of the water with Brendon as the last rays of the sun were stroking the horizon, to find Spencer already dressed and waiting for him. It was usually the other way around. Ryan had taken to bringing his iPod specifically so Brendon could listen to Fall Out Boy while they hung out on the surface. Of all things human, nothing fascinated Brendon as much as music. There were no such things as instruments in the oceanwalkers' world; Ryan supposed pianos found in old shipwrecks didn't exactly come with instruction manuals.   
  
Ryan was secretly glad that Brendon shared his appreciation for Pete Wentz's lyrics, although Brendon would never know that; Ryan was always too busy preventing a fatal collision between his iPod and the ocean to ever tell him. Not that he would, anyway.   
  
Ryan had been extolling the virtues of Modest Mouse for most of the day. Brendon loudly doubted them, but he was about as subtle as a typhoon. Ryan knew he just wanted to listen to Enema of the State again. They were still arguing when they broke the surface. It took a while for Spencer's bad mood to register with Ryan. He was more absorbed by Brendon than he liked to admit.  
  
Spencer didn't say a word as Ryan said goodbye, promising to force Modest Mouse on Brendon tomorrow.   
  
"Big words, Ross!" yelled Brendon. "You talk the talk, but can you swim the walk?"  
  
"You're hilarious," said Ryan. His voice came out too warm, too much like he meant it.  
  
"Love you too," said Brendon. He flicked water all over Ryan's shirt before diving under the water. It was a tradition, now, although Ryan never admitted that he liked it.  
  
"What's up?" asked Ryan, after Spencer had maintained a stodgy silence for the whole walk home. "You get bit by a seasnake or something?" Spencer just shook his head.  
  
Ryan didn't probe. There were too many other things to focus on: Brendon, and dinner, and Brendon, and hot chocolate afterwards, and Brendon. Ryan had two former girlfriends, but even during their very short relationships Ryan never spent this much time imagining conversations with them. This was mainly because he was more interested in getting into their pants. To be fair, they never had much to say - not about the things that really mattered, anyway. Like music.  
  
It came as a shock when Spencer stood up after dinner and said to Olivia, "I'm going down to the arcades tonight, okay?"  
  
"Sure, honey," said Olivia. She picked up Ryan's plate. "Are you going too?"  
  
Ryan snapped shut his wide-open mouth. "Um. I guess?" He tried to read Spencer's face, but Spencer had carefully schooled it blank. He shrugged. "Yeah."  
  
"Have fun," said Olivia. "Curfew at twelve."  
  
"One," Jim mouthed behind her, slapping on an innocent face when Olivia turned around too quickly. Ryan tried not to give him away by smiling.  
  
+++  
  
"Spence! Seriously, wait up. _Spencer_."  
  
Spencer slowed his steps, but didn't look back. Ryan shivered. He'd raced out to catch up Spencer in flip-flops and shorts. The air by the ocean was always chilly at night. Spencer, on the other hand, was well prepared: he was wearing jeans, sneakers, a sweater.   
  
"What the hell?" panted Ryan. He hung on to Spencer's shoulders, more to hold him back than because he needed to catch his breath. "Dude, what is _wrong_ with you? What's with the sudden interest in Hicksville?"  
  
Spencer shrugged off Ryan's hand. "It's Seaside," he said, "and I just feel like it, okay?"  
  
"Did I do something to piss you off?" said Ryan. He hoped the answer wouldn't be 'ignoring me because of Brendon.' Even for Spencer, Ryan couldn't give Brendon up.  
  
"No," said Spencer carefully, " _you_ did nothing."  
  
A light clicked on. "Oh. You had a fight with Jon?"  
  
"Not a fight, exactly," said Spencer. "Are you coming? To the arcades?"  
  
"Can I get a sweater?"   
  
"You came out without -" Spencer shook his head. "Of course you did."  
  
"You'll wait?" Ryan was already walking backwards. Spencer sighed.  
  
"Of course."

+++

The extent of Spencer's bad mood became clear the following morning, when he refused to go to the cove.  
  
"I don't get it," said Ryan. He had one hand on his iPod, where there was a brand-new playlist called 'Brendon's Downfall.' "What did you fight about? Which dangerous sea creature to torment next?"  
  
Spencer sucked in a breath. "I think you should talk to Brendon."  
  
"Please, could you be more vague?" asked Ryan. "Because your specificity is just killing me."  
  
"Ask him about his pearl," said Spencer. "I'm going to a movie with Jenny."  
  
Ryan knew better than to argue with that tone of voice. His footsteps dragged a little as he climbed down to the cove, searching for and instantly finding a dark head among the waves. Spencer's doom-laden words cast a pall over the otherwise bright, sunny day.   
  
"No Jon?" asked Ryan, as he pulled off his shorts.  
  
Brendon shook his head. His expression was guarded. "He had some family obligations to, you know. Oblige. Over in the east colony."  
  
That set Ryan to thinking. For all he knew, Spencer had been treated to squid brunches with fifty of Jon's closest friends and family every day, but Ryan had never met a third mermaid. He'd avoided the subject for a while, afraid Brendon and Jon were the last of their kind or something as equally tragic and fatal to casual conversation. However, one day Brendon mentioned 'my brother' and 'my friend Shane' in the same five minutes, reassuring Ryan that Brendon wasn't going the way of the dinosaurs (although he did wonder if mermaids could reproduce homosexually).  
  
He slid into the water - easily, now: he barely noticed the darting cold, or the brief rash of goosebumps. His gill fluttered against the water in a way that Ryan guessed would be arousing, if properly done.   
  
Brendon's gills were on either side of his neck, just under his ears. Once, Ryan had touched them by accident - going to thump Brendon's head for some remark or other. Instead of protesting, Brendon's eyes had fluttered closed and he made a sound that was very close to a moan. He was almost embarrassed by it - as embarrassed as Brendon got about anything - and Ryan had been careful to stay away from his neck ever since.  
  
They swum aimlessly for a while. Spencer's advice weighed on Ryan's mind. Brendon seemed equally preoccupied. It wasn't like him to be this silent, so eventually Ryan blurted: "Pearls."  
  
"Ah." Brendon's smile was very thin. "Spencer told you."  
  
"Spencer told me nothing," said Ryan. "Except to ask you about the pearls. So I'm asking."  
  
Brendon reached up and touched the slight swell of Ryan's cheek. "The obvious part? Is that they allow you to breathe underwater and understand what I'm saying. Sort of like an mini-oceanwalker."  
  
"Funnily enough, I'd figured out that much already," said Ryan. "What's the catch? Because I'm guessing there's a catch. Spencer doesn't get his bitchface on for nothing."  
  
Brendon chewed his lip. Ryan really wished he wouldn't; it was insanely distracting. It wasn't like Ryan didn't already obsess enough about Brendon's mouth, the kissing of. And Brendon just went on handing him live ammunition for his fantasies.   
  
Despite this, Ryan could see that Brendon was upset. His voice was subdued when he said, "You asked me once why I didn't have a fishtail."  
  
Ryan nodded. "Yeah, I didn't get that it was, like, a _mortal insult_ to your ancestry -" He abruptly shut up when Brendon's fingers touched his lips. He hoped the cold water would filter out his blush.   
  
"This is hard for me to say," said Brendon, "and I figure you're going to be plenty mad afterwards, so just - let me finish?" He didn't take his hand away until Ryan nodded. "Okay." Brendon took a deep breath. "My ancestry is kind of the point. Oceanwalkers look a lot like humans. A lot of us don't like it, but it's true. The only _real_ difference is that we can survive underwater, and you can't."   
  
Brendon rubbed his nose. Ryan didn't miss the way the water shimmered for a moment, catching the tiny scales he'd shed. "Every oceanwalker makes one pearl in their lifetime. I guess at some point we figured out how from, whatever. Oysters. If you saw our nests - where we sleep - anyway. You don't keep your own pearl. You give it away, and get someone else's in return. It's called 'sharing the breath.' Because, right, pearls are how we breathed down here too, originally. Maybe. No one's quite sure - the written records don't go back that far."  
  
Ryan opened his mouth, curious about mermaid language. Brendon held up a hand with a pleading expression, and Ryan shut it again.  
  
Brendon's voice got progressively jerkier. "So, you share your breath with someone by giving them your pearl. The kissing ritual? And, um, you're kind of pledged to them? For - you know. Forever."  
  
"Spencer was right," said Ryan, "we _did_ get accidentally married!"  
  
"Basically," said Brendon, "yeah." His expression was one of pure anguish. "I'm _sorry_. Spencer was furious when he found out - and so was Jon. I pretty much forced Jon to do it so Spencer could come underwater with us. I mean, Jon liked Spencer and all, but maybe not that much. And it's not like I explained it to you, either. Jon warned me that it was a bad idea but I really wanted to get to know you properly -"  
  
"What do you mean?" asked Ryan. "Why did you -"  
  
Brendon spoke quickly, running his words together. "When you were younger, you and Spencer spent hours learning how to skim stones across the water."  
  
Ryan stared. The summer he was ten, he and Spencer _had_ spent most of the vacation competing to achieve the highest number of hops. But how did _Brendon_ -?  
  
"I never quite understood it," Brendon mused. "It seemed so pointless. I mean, the stones just sank! I even swam over to look at one when you were gone. There was nothing special about them that I could see. And, two years ago, you kissed Spencer on the mouth."  
  
"I never did," said Ryan, the denial so perfect and complete he nearly believed it himself.   
  
Spencer had been fifteen and desperate to know what it was like. Ryan didn't want to be Spencer's first kiss - thought it was a big deal, to be saved for someone special - but Spencer had more pragmatism in his little toe than Ryan would accumulate in a lifetime. Spencer's argument was that the special someone deserved an experienced kisser. The only benefit Ryan gleaned from the whole exercise was a certainty that he'd never feel _that way_ for Spencer, if kissing him was anything to go by.  
  
"And when you came back this year," continued Brendon, "you _did_ manage to catch a fish once, but you pretended you didn't and unhooked it when Spencer wasn't looking."  
  
"You've been watching us!" accused Ryan. Brendon nodded. "Dude, that's kind of creepy."  
  
"What would you have done?" said Brendon dryly. "Swum up and said, hey, I'm a mermaid! Wanna make out?"  
  
"Well, better that than - wait, you want to make out?"  
  
"It was hypothetical," said Brendon, going bright pink.   
  
"Okay," said Ryan. Silence reigned until Ryan's mouth ran away from his brain. "I think we should, though. Make out. Since we're apparently married and all. Hey, next time, think about _telling_ your prospective husband first."  
  
"There's a thought," said Brendon. "The ideal time is right after he's cut you up with a hook but also right _before_ he knows how to speak your language."  
  
"You kissed me that first day," said Ryan, feeling suddenly shy. "A bit more of that and I would have got a clue."  
  
"Oh?" Brendon stopped jiggling around in the water. "That would have made you a-okay about marrying me?"  
  
"I dunno," said Ryan. "I dunno 'cause you didn't ... keep. Kissing me."  
  
Brendon's eyes roamed Ryan's face. He seemed to be leaning forward, although it could just have been the currents. "I - no! Wait. Aren't you mad?"  
  
"About you not kissing me?" said Ryan stupidly.  
  
"No - er, maybe. No! About me not telling you about the sharing of breath."  
  
"It meant I could come here," said Ryan, "right?"  
  
"Minus all your internal organs imploding, yeah. Why?"  
  
"It meant I could come here," said Ryan, "with you." His heart crashed against his ribcage. He met Brendon's eyes, feeling a skin-tightening, breath-stealing shock of nerves.   
  
"Not mad, then?"  
  
"No!"  
  
"Just checking," said Brendon. His teeth worried his bottom lip again, but it seemed like he was holding back a smile.   
  
"Hey, I, um. I really like you." Ryan's voice shook. "I mean, I _really_ like you."  
  
"I've loved you since I was twelve years old," said Brendon. "I think I win."  
  
"But you first saw me when I was ten," said Ryan.   
  
"Back then it was only a crush," explained Brendon. Ryan smiled, a long slow smile, all uncertainty gone. Brendon dipped his head, still chewing on his bottom lip. Ryan really, really needed to do something about that.   
  
His hands shook slightly as he reached for Brendon's shoulders and pulled him closer. It was an odd sensation: purling through the water, never remaining in the same place, endlessly moving. Yet for all that, his mouth found Brendon's with perfect ease and clung on. He pushed his tongue against Brendon's lower lip, soothing the bitten flesh; it fell open at Brendon's sigh.  
  
Brendon's arms wound about Ryan's neck. His hair floated through Ryan's fingers, but Brendon still purred with contentment at the touch. His lips were too cold and too smooth, but his tongue, as it tentatively curled against Ryan's, was rough and warm. On impulse, Ryan stroked his fingers along Brendon's gills. Brendon shuddered and kissed him harder, plunging his tongue into Ryan's mouth and leaving him breathless.  
  
"Do all mermaids kiss like you?" whispered Ryan.   
  
"I don't know," said Brendon. "You were my first."  
  
"Oh," said Ryan, shocked and pleased. His own voice to Spencer floated across his mind - _make it someone special. So it means something_. Then Brendon leaned forward again, smiling, and Ryan forgot everything else in the world.  
  
Brendon pressed his smile to Ryan's mouth. His kiss was firmer this time, his tongue surer as it parted Ryan's lips and licked inside. Ryan closed his eyes and sunk into the sensation. The last thing he remembered was the sudden burst of cold as the pearl was dislodged from his cheek.  
  
+++  
  
Ryan reassembled a memory of the next few hours from the accounts given to him by others. He could never be entirely certain what belonged solely to his own recollection of the event, with the exception of one thing: the scorching agony of his throat. He later realised this was from the efforts his body made to drag any little bit of oxygen into his lungs as he drowned.  
  
His mind felt sketchy when he woke up. He reached out instinctively for Brendon. He got Spencer instead: Spencer who was fast asleep face down on Ryan's knees. Ryan's left foot had gone dead from the weight. Ryan wriggled his toes back to life and woke up Spencer in the process.  
  
"Oh, thank God," whispered Spencer. He looked like he'd taken red pencil to his eyelids; it took a minute for Ryan to realise he'd been crying. "What _happened_? Brendon was so upset he couldn't speak. As soon as we got you to the surface Jon took him away. Thank god I went down to find you - Brendon couldn't get you out of the water on his own - it was so _bad_ , Ryan."  
  
Ryan rubbed his temples, trying to remember. "I don't know. One minute I was - with Brendon." He didn't want to tell Spencer about the kiss until he was sure it had actually happened, and wasn't just a figment of his imagination. "The next, I'm here. Where is here, incidentally?"  
  
"The hospital. You never woke up, Ryan. You never woke up, not in the ambulance or in the ER -" Spencer took a torn breath. Ryan grabbed for his hand and squeezed it. "Mom called your dad."  
  
"Is he coming here?" Ryan couldn't separate the longing from the dread. Spencer bit his lip.  
  
"I don't know. Mom said he seemed pretty out of it. She's going to try again tomorrow morning." Spencer checked his watch. "This morning, actually."  
  
"Please don't tell me you slept here all night. You might have done irrevocable damage to your cervical spine."  
  
"You're such a douche, and I mean that in a loving way. Of course I stayed here. I thought you were going to -" Spencer broke off. "Anyway," he said briskly, after a minute. "It's a bit early for breakfast, but there's a vending machine down the hall. Do you want anything?"  
  
Ryan touched his throat. The low-burn ache flared into full awareness. "Unless it's liquid anaesthetic, no. God, I feel like I just ate razorblades."  
  
"You were ... you were pretty far down when you lost consciousness, Brendon said. It took him a while to get you back up."  
  
"Jesus, _Brendon_ ," said Ryan. "You've got to go, Spence, you've got to tell him I'm all right."  
  
"I'm not leaving you," said Spencer stubbornly.   
  
"Please," said Ryan, a word he rarely used. "It's important."  
  
"Okay - but not until Mom gets here. No! She'll think it's funny if I leave before then, and she'll send me home anyway. Or do you really want to tell her everything we've been doing lately?"  
  
"I think that would be a seriously shitty idea, actually," said Ryan.  
  
"Good to know," said Spencer. A burr of voices in the hall made him turn his head. He jumped off the bed and opened the door. "Mom! He's awake!"  
  
"Thank the Lord," said Olivia fervently, entering with Jim on her trail. "Thank the Lord. Spencer James Smith, you look tuckered out. You get right home and into bed, you hear? No arguments."  
  
"Okay, Mom," said Spencer dutifully. He pulled Ryan into a brief, sharp-boned hug, whispering, "I'll tell him," before he left.  
  
"How do you feel, honey?" asked Olivia. She brushed the hair off Ryan's forehead. "I just about dropped when Spencer came hollering that you'd drowned. I thought you knew better than to swim out beyond your depth?"  
  
"Okay. I'm okay," said Ryan. "My throat's bad, but I'm..."  
  
"Okay?" supplied Jim, with a smile.  
  
"We just want you to know," said Olivia, with fierce tenderness, "that we understand. We don't mind. You and Spencer have always been like brothers - you're my second son, in a way. Whatever you choose to do is fine by us."  
  
"Uh ... thanks?" Ryan wracked his brain. Nothing in Spencer's manner suggested he'd let slip the truth about the mermaids, even inadvertently.   
  
"There's an organisation we can join, isn't there?" said Jim. "Flag something. They give you _car stickers_." He sounded inordinately gleeful.  
  
"Do you mean Greenpeace?" Ryan was seriously confused now.  
  
"No. Jim's got it backways and upside down, as usual. It's Parents and Friends..." Olivia's voice dropped "... of Lesbians and Gays."  
  
" _PFLAG_?" repeated Ryan. "But - Spencer's not gay!" _He's only kissed one boy, and it doesn't count because it was me_ , said the overly precise part of his brain. Ryan clamped his lips shut before it took control of his speech centre.  
  
"It's okay," said Olivia. "I mean, you two were - you _had no clothes on_."  
  
"Oh," said Ryan, "that." That meant Spencer had jumped in to save him. Ryan guessed he'd stripped off entirely out of habit - nudity wasn't exactly part of the lifesaving course at the Y.  
  
"Buttons, too, I understand," said Jim.  
  
"It's not what you think," said Ryan, starting to blush. "That is - me, I'm not sure. I mean, I think I might be. Gay. Or bisexual. But Spencer's - we were just - skinny-dipping. Nothing else. _Really_ nothing else."  
  
"Skinny-dipping," repeated Olivia. She sounded a little disappointed.  
  
"Yeah," said Ryan. "Spencer is like a _brother_ to me. That's all."  
  
"Well -" Olivia rallied. "- that's fine, too, of course. And you know Spencer will always support you."  
  
"I know," said Ryan. Spencer was the one certainty in his life - the one thing that made up for all the rest.   
  
"Shucks," said Jim. "I was looking forward to getting a sticker."  
  
"You still can," said Ryan. "I mean, it's for parents _and_ friends." As soon as he'd said it, he worried that he'd overstepped the mark. "Though, that is - you don't have to."  
  
"But I want to," said Jim, taking his wife's hand and grinning. "In fact, I'll get two."  
  
+++  
  
Almost an entire week passed before Ryan could return to the beach. He was kept in for observation, first by the hospital, then by Olivia. Olivia decided that the sea was a threat Ryan would do better to avoid. He had to take Jim aside for a private chat before she'd agree to even let him go down to the arcades again. It wasn't enough; Ryan needed to see Brendon. Spencer was wholly supportive of this plan. "I'm getting sick of the things you whisper in your sleep," he said. "You need to say them to him. Or take a cold shower."  
  
But Spencer didn't want to lie to his mother. He simply wore her down until she let them return to the secret beach, albeit loaded down with lifejackets. "Promise me you'll wear them if you go far out," she begged. Ryan promised. It was down he intended to go, not out.  
  
The sky and sea were clear blue mirrors of each other, and just as flat and empty. For some stupid reason, Ryan had expected Brendon to be there already. "How are we going to find him?" he asked, as if Spencer would know.   
  
Spencer shrugged. "We wait, I guess."  
  
They waited for a long time, not talking much. Ryan was tensely aware of every ripple of every wave, hope rising that it would break over Brendon's head, and falling with the crash of foam. The sun was stretching long pink fingers across the water before a dark head finally appeared, far out. Ryan jumped to his feet and ran into the water. "Brendon! Over here, Brendon!"  
  
"Ryan, your lifejacket!" cried Spencer.  
  
Ryan waded into the water up to his waist. It took Brendon a long time to reach him - or maybe it just felt that way, when every breath was a century's torture of anticipation. Objectively, Brendon looked haggard: his eyes heavily lidded, purple smears tattooed beneath them, and his full mouth drawn into a taut bow. But all Ryan could think was how _happy_ he was to see Brendon. He put his arms around Brendon and hugged him tight. After a moment, Brendon's arms came around his back. They held each other silently until the sun retreated from the sky and Spencer started making pointed scuffling noises in the sand.  
  
Ryan kissed Brendon's neck and drew back. There was something wrong: the skin felt smooth when it should have been rough and serrated around his gills. Brendon's eyes were glassy.   
  
"Don't be sad," said Ryan. What he meant was _how can you be sad when I'm not_ , but he didn't know how to voice it.  
  
"They banished me, Ryan," said Brendon hollowly. "They _took my pearl_. I told them I just wanted to be closer to them - to you - and they said I could get as close as I wanted." He felt his cheek with dull amazement. "Is this what tears feel like? They're so ... strange."  
  
"How could they do that? _Why_ would they do that? You saved my life!"  
  
"I wouldn't have needed to if I hadn't brought you there in the first place," murmured Brendon. "That's what they said. That's what they said and they were _right_. I as good as killed you."  
  
"I'm alive." Ryan grabbed Brendon's wrist and forced his hand up over his heart. Surely Brendon couldn't help but feel how strongly it beat just because he was near. "You saved me. I'll save you. I'll take care of you."  
  
"I have to leave the sea," said Brendon. "Tonight. Or they'll come and tie me to a rock and light the fires around me, and there'll be nothing left for even the gulls to find."  
  
"Then _c'mon_ ," said Ryan. He started to grow scared. Brendon's words were bad enough, but the look on his face was worse. Ryan tugged Brendon's hand, stepping backwards into the shallows.  
  
"Ryan," said Brendon, "I don't know how to walk."  
  
Ryan gulped back whatever words his brain threw at him. He put his hand around Brendon's waist and tucked Brendon's arm over his neck. Brendon stumbled along, dragging his feet like flippers. He was gasping before they even made the beach, little shallow breaths like he was trying to hold in the pain.  
  
"Spencer!" yelled Ryan. "Help me!"  
  
"What are you doing?" Spencer splashed into the water. "He can't leave the ocean. Right, Brendon? You can't leave the ocean?"  
  
"He's leaving it now," said Ryan. A look of major apprehension flickered across Spencer's face, but to his credit he didn't say a word. He lifted Brendon's other arm and muttered, "That's it. Put your foot down. Now the other one."  
  
Brendon put both feet on the wet sand and hissed. His brows wrenched together in the deepest scowl Ryan had ever seen on his face.  
  
"What's wrong?" said Ryan.  
  
"The sand," whispered Brendon. "It burns."  
  
Ryan and Spencer exchanged confused looks over Brendon's back. Between them, Brendon hunched and slithered into a crouch. "Everything's so hard. So sharp."  
  
Ryan stepped on to the beach and it hit him: the difference between the soft, shifting sand in the water and the dry, packed sand on the beach. And he'd been walking on his soles all his life.  
  
"Oh, Brendon," he sighed. He wrapped his arms around the shaking boy. Brendon winced as the fabric of Ryan's shirt shifted over his skin, raising red marks.   
  
"This," said Spencer, with a tone of ominous portent, "was _such_ a bad idea."  
  
+++  
  
Between Spencer's sweatshirt, and the sacrifice of Ryan's dignity by walking the pier in his boxers while Brendon took his jeans, they got Brendon home with a semblance of decorum. He shivered uncontrollably the whole way. Ryan soon gave up whispering encouragement in his ear in favour of concentrating on the task at hand: pulling Brendon along without hurting him more than he already was.  
  
"What are we going to tell Mom?" asked Spencer, as their beach house came into sight.  
  
Ryan hadn't thought they needed to tell her anything. He had vague notions of Brendon sleeping in his bed - bringing Brendon meals on the sly. Spencer read his mind in the annoyingly uncanny way he had, for he said, "She's going to notice that there's an extra boy in the house. Remember how she found Herman after only two hours? And he was a _hamster_. Small. Hideable."  
  
"Will she be mad, do you think?"  
  
"Not at us," said Spencer carefully. "But honestly? I don't expect her to be thrilled. She used to vet everyone I ever had sleep over - called their parents and practically demanded a CV."  
  
"She never did that to me," said Ryan.  
  
"You're different," said Spencer. "Besides, you live down the road. Where are we gonna say Brendon's from? The second star to the right?"  
  
"I am here, you know," said Brendon. His voice was little and defeated. "I don't want to bother your parents. Can't I sleep on the beach? Humans do that sometimes."  
  
"Yeah, with sleeping bags and torches and bags of s'mores," said Spencer. He hoisted Brendon over a bump. "You're as weak as a kitten. When's the last time you ate?"  
  
"I didn't feel like hunting since ..." Brendon gulped "... since Ryan nearly drowned."   
  
"Jesus, that's like - five days," said Spencer. "How are you even walking?"  
  
"Well, he's kind of not," said Ryan, as he nudged Brendon's leg into motion. For some reason, Spencer glared at him.  
  
The porch light snapped on at their approach. Olivia's shadow appeared in the bright square before she wrenched open the flyscreen. "This is not the way to stop me worrying," she said, striding out. "Disappearing all day without even calling - who's this?"  
  
"It's a long story," said Spencer. "He's our friend Brendon, and his parents threw him out today."  
  
"Oh, my." Olivia's eyebrows shot up. "May I ask why?"  
  
"It's not drugs or anything," said Spencer. "They had a fight over, um, religious stuff. He's got nowhere to go, Mom, and it's cold."  
  
"It's eighty degrees out," said Olivia dryly. All the same, she hustled Spencer aside and helped Brendon into a cane chair. "You look practically consumptive - Brandon, was it?"  
  
"Brendon," said Brendon. He flashed her a low-watt version of his normal happy smile. "I'm very sorry to intrude. I really didn't know where else to go."  
  
"You can leave all the explaining until after you've had a rest." Olivia settled the chenille throw over Brendon's shoulders. "Ryan, why don't you fix some hot chocolate? And you -" she collared her son. "- will help me make up the spare bed in your room."  
  
"Why does Ryan always get the easy jobs?" complained Spencer.  
  
"Because no one wants hot chocolate that's congealed solid?" suggested Ryan.   
  
"I might make you an apple-pie bed while I'm at it," said Spencer thoughtfully. Olivia poked him.  
  
"You. Linen closet. Now."  
  
Ryan lingered behind the others. Brendon was staring out into the gathering dark. Ryan didn't have to look to know Brendon was facing in the direction of the sea.  
  
"Hey," he said softly. Brendon glanced up. His eyes were dull and he dropped them after a second. Ryan rubbed his shoulder, an awkward gesture that was halfway between a pat and a caress. "We'll figure something out."  
  
Brendon said nothing. Ryan waited a moment longer, then slipped inside.  
  
+++  
  
Spencer cornered Ryan in the delicate moment when he was blending chocolate powder and milk for the perfect finished consistency.  
  
"I'm telling them the truth," he said baldly.  
  
"Okay," said Ryan, highly distracted. It was only when he came around, a tray filled with mugs in his hands, that he realised what it was he'd agreed to. He hurried into the living room.   
  
Spencer had clearly just finished regaling his parents with the news that they were harbouring a mermaid. Olivia, as expected, looked concerned for her son's sanity. Jim - well, that was interesting, thought Ryan. Jim was a man who did manly things, most of them involving sheds and drills. He was the last person Ryan would expect to swallow a story like this, much less look intrigued by it.   
  
"Come to think of it, there were always rumours around this area," said Jim. "I remember when I was a kid, listening to the old men on the docks. They'd boast of the strange things they'd seen late at night, out on the water. Mermaids were the least of it, let me tell you, but they did come up a lot."  
  
"Spencer has sunstroke," said Olivia. "That's the only explanation for this - ridiculous cock and bull story. What's the deal with this kid? Is he a drug dealer?"  
  
"Yeah, he was hoping to make a bomb off you and Dad," said Spencer. "You're exactly the kind of clients who'd hit him up for crack. He's a _mermaid_ , Mom. That's it."  
  
"Are you in on this too?" Olivia asked Ryan. He set down the tray, trying not to meet her eyes.  
  
"It's true," he mumbled. "I accidentally hooked him one day - I thought he was a fish."  
  
Jim guffawed in delight. Olivia sighed. "Fine. Fine. The kid's a mermaid. But if the place is crawling with narcs by this time tomorrow, I for one will not be surprised."  
  
"I'll get Brendon," said Ryan. He slipped off as the conversation degenerated into another round of 'he is' versus 'he can't be', with Spencer and Jim squaring off against Olivia.  
  
Brendon hadn't moved. His cheeks were shiny-wet, but Ryan coughed and pretended not to see. "You should come in now," he said. "It's getting chilly. Plus, there's hot chocolate. I didn't let Spence anywhere near it."  
  
Brendon took a deep breath, visibly steeling himself. "Help me?" he asked, putting out a hand. Ryan took it gladly. Brendon's skin was much warmer now, but still so smooth. This time Brendon took far more of his own weight. He shuffled to the door using tiny old-man steps, but he did it mostly without Ryan's help.  
  
"That's much better," said Ryan. "Is it getting easier?"  
  
"Sort of." Brendon frowned. "I keep expecting the ground to float away. I'm not used to putting my weight on things, you know?"  
  
Ryan thought about mentioning how difficult it was to sit down underwater, but he thought it would provoke Brendon's homesickness. So he merely smiled and ushered Brendon through the door.  
  
"So this is our mermaid," said Jim. "Hello, Brendon. I'm Jim, Spencer's dad." He put out his hand. Brendon stared at it. Ryan saw a sliver of doubt pass through Olivia's face.  
  
"He can talk?" Jim whispered to Spencer, who nodded. "Ah. He just chooses not to." Louder, he added, "Here, have some hot chocolate. The Ross special, we call it."   
  
"We do?" said Spencer.   
  
Jim gave a discomforted chuckle and held out the mug to Brendon. "Careful!" said Ryan. He grabbed the handle just in time, as Brendon snatched his palms away.  
  
"It's _hot_ ," he said, sounding hurt.  
  
"Yeah - I'll have to warn you, next time. Be careful when you drink it."  
  
Ryan took his own mug and sipped, slower than he usually would. He felt Brendon's eyes noting every move and copying them uncertainly. Ryan could tell when the liquid hit Brendon's tongue, for his eyes went wide. A second later, he spat the mouthful back into his mug and scrubbed at his tongue.  
  
"Too hot?" said Ryan. Brendon nodded frantically.  
  
Jim and Olivia were telegraphing each other parent-eyebrow Morse code. Ryan could guess the content. Spencer took Brendon's mug away from him.   
  
"What?" he said, at Ryan's look. "He's not going to drink it. I finished mine already. You should take it as a compliment, Mr Ross Special."  
  
"I think I'll take him to bed," said Ryan.  
  
"In that case," said Spencer, reaching out, "I'm taking yours too."   
  
+++  
  
Between his accident and Brendon's arrival, Ryan had days upon days to do nothing but think about their kiss. Spencer called it moping and once, when he was really irritated, pining. Ryan supposed there was a bit of both in his feelings, mainly because he'd worried about never seeing Brendon again. He didn't imagine for a second that Brendon would come to him this way, broken and hurt. Yet it was difficult to only feel compassion when Brendon was _so close_.  
  
Exhausted, Brendon passed out on the spare bed before Ryan had time to explain the concept of pyjamas. Ryan sat beside him now, idly winding one of Brendon's curls around his fingers. For the most part, his hair had dried out straight and fine. But on the nape of his neck it exploded into tiny soft curls. They were driving Ryan a little bit insane.   
  
Brendon breathed heavily in his sleep, lips pouched out. Ryan had already given into the temptation of pressing his mouth to them, for the barest split-second. He wasn't about to do it again, because it was creepy and wrong. All the same, he was very glad when Spencer ambled into the room.  
  
"I did knock," he said, when Ryan jumped around, flushed with the guilt of his thoughts.  
  
"He's asleep," said Ryan, for something to say.   
  
"I'm never getting my sweatshirt back, am I?" Spencer sounded resigned. As half his clothes ended up in Ryan's wardrobe, and vice versa, Ryan didn't take this too seriously.   
  
For a few minutes Ryan had the leisure of staring at Brendon some more, while Spencer wandered around getting ready for bed. Ryan was stroking Brendon's cheek when Spencer came to a halt beside him, concern digging grooves around his mouth.  
  
"You can't keep him, you know," he said.  
  
Ryan quickly stuck both hands in his pockets. "Don't be stupid," he said. "He's not a pet."  
  
"No," agreed Spencer. "You're just treating him like one."  
  
"That is not fair. I -" Ryan looked down at the sleeping face and felt his heart flutter.   
  
"You're in love with him," said Spencer. "I get it, Jesus."  
  
" _What_?"  
  
"Honestly," sighed Spencer, "did you think I didn't know? Even if you weren't so totally obvious with Brendon -"  
  
"I was totally obvious with Brendon?"  
  
"- I would still know. Because you're Ryan and I'm Spencer. That's _it_."  
  
Ryan stared mutely at Spencer. Spencer seemed cross - but not angry. Or disgusted. Possibly Ryan should have trusted him more.  
  
"But this won't _work_. Can't you see?" Spencer was more interested in Brendon than Ryan's big gay revelation. Although apparently it wasn't such a relevlation after all. "He can barely handle hot liquids. How's he going to go with knives and forks?"  
  
"We can teach him," said Ryan stubbornly.   
  
"Oh yeah?" Spencer planted his hands on his hips. "You gonna teach him to read English, too? Bring him up to high school standard in a month before - oh yeah! You go off to college! Without him!"  
  
"It doesn't have to be without him," said Ryan. Even as he said it, he felt a quiver of doubt.  
  
"So you're going to drag him along to keggers when he can barely walk, and lectures when he can't read and write? Or maybe just keep him locked in your dorm for when you want to get off? You really should get a pet and abuse that. It'd be kinder."  
  
"Why are you being such a dick?" shouted Ryan.  
  
"Because I'm worried!" Spencer yelled back. "I'm worried about Brendon because he's a fully grown mermaid, not a fully grown human, and you don't seem to get the difference. And I'm worried about you because you're going to let him break your heart _again_."  
  
"That - what?" Ryan stared at him.  
  
"Remember when you dated Sandra Keller? You started going out two months before she moved to Ohio. _Ohio_ , Ryan. You knew she was leaving and you did it anyway. You never know when to just walk away."  
  
"This is different," said Ryan. "I didn't bring Brendon here. His family threw him out."  
  
Spencer went quiet then, and for a foolish moment Ryan thought he'd won. Then:  
  
"Your dad chucked you out, once."  
  
"He was drunk!" Black boiled behind Ryan's eyes.  
  
"No, he was _mad_ ," said Spencer. "I remember. I remember all the times he stuck out the AA for a couple weeks or months or whatever. That was one of them. And you were so shitty to him -" Ryan snarled and Spencer held out a placating hand. "Not without good reason - I know! But God, Ryan, he didn't know what to do with you. Cutting class and hanging out with those potheads from school. _I_ wanted to deck you then. And do you remember what happened after that?"  
  
"I went to your house," said Ryan slowly, "with a bunch of stuff in a bag, and my guitar..."  
  
"And the next day, he came over," said Spencer relentlessly. "Fucking _crying_ , he was so sorry. Drinking makes him do bad shit to you, but somewhere deep down he loves you a lot. And Brendon's family isn't like your dad at all. Jon told me. I bet they're really, seriously mad at him right now because they don't understand what he's trying to do. But tomorrow, they'll want him back. And you can't keep him here and not let them _have_ him back. It's not fair."  
  
At this last repetition, Spencer puffed to a halt. His face was red and his fringe was sticking to his sweaty forehead. He put his back to Ryan and finished changing, then got into his bunk without another word.  
  
Ryan went to the door and turned out the light. He lay sleepless on his own bunk, facing Brendon's pale face, for a long time.  
  
+++  
  
The rustle of clothing woke Ryan from a sticky slumber. Beer-coloured light filtered through the thin curtains, limning Spencer's arms as he tugged on a moderately fresh t-shirt. By now they'd worn everything at least once before, due to Olivia's refusal to do laundry on holiday. The reminder that their vacation was nearly over struck Ryan forcibly.   
  
Spencer stared at Ryan for a good minute to see if he were awake or not. He'd done that his entire life, and it never failed to freak Ryan out and make him snap, "I'm awake, god." In retrospect, that was probably why Spencer did it.  
  
"I'm going to the beach," said Spencer. He sounded determined but not happy. "I'm going to talk to Jon."  
  
Ryan kept his mouth shut. After a minute, Spencer shrugged irritably and slammed out of the room.  
  
During the next hour, Olivia popped her head in - Ryan feigned sleep - and Jenny thundered past, yelling something about pancakes. When he was sure they'd all left for a morning on the beach, Ryan got up and slid in beside Brendon. It took a few minutes to sort out his tangle of limbs, but soon Ryan's face was buried in the back of Brendon's neck. He breathed deep, smelling salt. He could see every delicate ridge and whorl in Brendon's skin, now that it was completely dry and flaking slightly. Ryan ran a finger down Brendon's jaw and released a fine mist of scales. _Scales_. No human had scales. Ryan pushed the thought aside.  
  
He placed a tentative hand on Brendon's jutting hip, exposed between Spencer's sweatshirt and Ryan's too-large jeans. Brendon's stomach curved in sharply. Ryan had to restrain himself from following the hollow line. Brendon, sleeping, looked younger than he was, with one fist curled up under his flushed cheek.   
  
He must have moved, because Brendon opened his eyes and yawned right into Ryan's face. His face relaxed into a lazy grin. "Hey. What are you doing -"  
  
"Brendon?" said Ryan tentatively, as Brendon's eyes dimmed. "Are you okay?"  
  
"Fine," said Brendon, too quickly. "Just - I just remembered. What happened." He curved up his arm to touch Ryan's cheek. "But you're here."  
  
"Yeah," said Ryan. His heart began to skip beats.   
  
He felt like a wind-up doll as he jerked down to kiss Brendon. Brendon lifted his neck to meet him. Ryan slid his hand underneath it to support Brendon's head, smoothing strands of hair between his fingers. He thought he could die from this, the warm skin and the soft hair and the hot seabreath. In turn, Brendon lifted his arms when Ryan tugged at his shirt and kissed like it was his last day on earth.   
  
Twice, Ryan's phone beeped with an incoming message. Twice, Ryan ignored it in favour of pressing his mouth to Brendon's and finding how much longer he could survive on Brendon's air.  
  
+++  
  
Ryan held Brendon's hand in the dusk and lead him over the rocks. He gave a careful squeeze every time they came up against something that might stall Brendon: a large patch of seagrass, a handful of loose pebbles, a hulk of driftwood. Ryan could smell the sweat off his own skin. He thought he could tell Brendon's sharper scent mingled in with it. In an ideal world he'd never shower again, but Spencer would probably have some strong things to say about that.  
  
Ryan had taken the long way round on purpose to delay the inevitable. Because of that, they rounded the spurs into the cove at an angle. The sea lay spread out below them. Ryan's murmur of shock was engulfed by Brendon's gasp.  
  
"What -?" he said. Ryan pulled Brendon's fingers to his mouth and kissed them, fiercely. Brendon said nothing more.  
  
The water was eerily still without a even a breeze to ruffle it. Yet it was not empty: scores of heads broke the surface, hair slicked to their skulls and spreading out across the surface. They hung almost motionless, barely paddling, but Ryan could feel each pair of dark eyes pierce his skin.  
  
And they were singing. At first Ryan didn't realise, until he looked at their open mouths and wondered. Then he recognised the sound. It was the one trapped in every shell, the one that owned the air of every seaside town. They _were_ the sound of the ocean.  
  
Spencer was waiting on the rock carved by his father. Jon drifted nearby, the closest to the shore of all the oceanwalkers. Ranked behind him Ryan could see a line of people. Their resemblance to Brendon was marked and unmistakable, even without the tremble that shook Brendon's entire body at the sight of them.  
  
Ryan stopped and put his hand on Brendon's jaw, trying not to think _for the last time_. Brendon looked sad and horror-struck equally, but Ryan couldn't kid himself that there wasn't relief waiting just behind.  
  
He slid his mouth across Brendon's skin, from the tender patch under his ear that had made him cry out, to the sharp ridge of his eyebrow, and finally his mouth. Brendon kissed back slowly, learning him off by heart.  
  
It ended like a tear. Ryan stared at the ground to hide the wetness under his eyelids, and missed the part where one of the mermaids threw something at Brendon. But he didn't miss the part where Brendon put a finger under his chin and lifted it.  
  
"Before I go," he whispered, "you should have this back." He kissed Ryan again. A cool hard shape passed between his lips and - he coughed.  
  
When Ryan saw the pearl, his eyes widened. "Are you kidding? No way. That's yours."  
  
Amazingly, Brendon laughed. He threw his head back, opening wide the reborn, greenish slits in his skin.  
  
"You're divorcing me already, Ryan Ross?" he said.  
  
"What? No! I thought -"  
  
"Jon was right," said Brendon. "He usually is. Good for him he's not stuck up about it or I'd have to eat his beard. I did _all_ of this tail before fin. I should have brought you to meet my family on the very first day, so they wouldn't have to find out about you like it was some dirty secret."  
  
"Parents on the first date?" said Ryan. "You really do take this whole marriage thing seriously."  
  
"Dead. Serious," sad Brendon. He closed Ryan's fingers around the pearl. "Huh. You didn't think you'd get away that easily, did you?"  
  
"I hoped not," whispered Ryan. "Oh god, I hoped not."  
  
"I have to go back, _now_ ," said Brendon. "I mean, Spencer went to all this trouble and my parents don't look ready to skin me alive, which are both miracles, pretty much. But - you'll find me again. I'll find you." His voice dropped. "You have my pearl _and_ my virtue now. There's no going back."  
  
Ryan hugged Brendon then, knocking their bodies together. Brendon didn't seem to mind, from the way his hands clutched at Ryan's hoodie. He was laughing; but the laughs turned into gasps.  
  
"What's wrong?" asked Ryan, frightened. Brendon sent him one last, beautiful, reassuring smile.  
  
"Time to turn into foam," he said.  
  
Brendon stripped off his clothes as he walked towards the water, singing. His was the deepest, darkest melody of all. He didn't stop when the waves hit his ankles, his knees, his waist. Only when his head disappeared did Ryan remember to breathe again. There was a faint glimmer in the water; bubbles popped. And yes, it did look a little like foam.  
  
"You," Spencer pointed an accusing finger at Ryan, "are _such_ an idiot."  
  
"We would not have killed him," called a muscular young man from the group of Brendon's relations.  
  
"Always so melodramatic, our Brendon," sighed a woman who had to be his mother, they looked so alike.  
  
"I always knew he'd do something outrageous," grumbled an older, bearded man. "I never thought he'd go so far as to marry into _humanity_ , though."  
  
One by one, they sunk under the waves - still arguing amongst themselves. Jon was the last to leave. He ripped off a lazy salute to Spencer, who gave him a half-smile in return.  
  
"Guess I'll be seeing you next summer," he said to Ryan.  
  
"Yeah," said Spencer, "and maybe. Maybe me too."  
  
Jon smiled and backrolled under the water. "What?" snapped Spencer, as Ryan's lips twitched. "Like you're the only one who's allowed to fall for the fish guy?"  
  
"What?" said Ryan, all innocent. "Although, I'm just thinking, divorces can be so _messy_ -"  
  
This time, it was Spencer who pushed Ryan into a dune.  
  
+++  
  
On a smooth flat rock, by the ocean:  
  
 _Ryan loves Brendon - long live the carcrash hearts_  
  
 _Spencer ~~likes~~ loves Jon he wants to kiss him he wants to touch him_  
  
 _Ryan eats babies_  
  
 _Raw_  
  
 _SJS IV + GS_

  
+++  
  
 _For whatever we lose(like a you or a me)  
it's always ourselves we find in the sea_   
e.e. cummings


End file.
